Lightning and Lasers
by TwelfthofMay
Summary: The horrors of the war between man and machine begin to dawn on John Connor. Chapter 4 Up!
1. Chapter 1

The gray fog cast a haze over the jagged horizon of warped metal. The wasteland stretched for miles. The battlefield was a maze of jagged corners and rusting scraps. Here and there lay shells from vintage guns, grenade pins, and used matches. Resistance fighters were forced to both love and hate the severe battlefield. They loved it when it gave them offered them a shield against a laser, but they hated it when the realization dawned on them in a bitter epiphany that this was once their home. That was a long time ago; that was before the day was perpetually gray. That was back when grass covered the ground instead of blood.

The inky black sky fell away to a beautiful crescendo of grayscale that signaled the morning hours in the year 2029. It was a windy day and the wind howled as it tore across the austere terrain. John Connor leaned back against the pitted door of a car. He exhaled heavily. The cool wind felt good on his hot face. He relaxed his grip on the trigger of his plasma rifle and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Morning was a welcome relief; there was less activity. Next to him, Captain Perry brought a walkie-talkie close to his lips.

"Perry report. Estimated two aerial HKs patrolling.. uh, South and South East. Sector 5 and Sector 6 be on your toes. Over," Perry said in a gruff voice.

Crackling static and a voice replied, "Ackerman in Sector 6, we've got the heads up. Over."

Perry flashed a toothy grin as he turned to John, "They held it up through the night. That's good. That area has sustained quite a bit of fire the last few nights. Now we just need Sector 5 to confirm and we're good to go."

Sector 5. That's where it had happened, wasn't it? All those years ago. Or was it just yesterday?

John had been crossing Sector 5 with two of his fighters. Or was it three? No, there were two: a younger boy and one of his Corporals. They were on their way to the junkyard where the mechanic was working on welding extra armor to a car. They were nearly there. John was yards away from the barbed wire that surrounded the junkyard. There was a hole just big enough to clamber through in order to avoid fire. The Corporal made a dive at it and made it through in one graceful motion. John followed through. The rough wire tore a slit in John's uniform as he scrambled under the wire. John turned around to help pull the younger boy through. Maybe if John had been faster going through the hole, the younger boy wouldn't have gotten torn in half by rapid laser fire. John struggled to pull the boy under the wire, but the boy kept screaming and clawing for his severed leg. He thrashed in a pool of his own blood while the coarse wire scratched his face. John was sure he could save the boy if he got him into a tourniquet, and he tried really hard. His efforts were in vain when the boy died in his arms in a pool of hot blood whilst screaming curses at the war machines that had torn him apart…

Perry cleared his throat and brought John Connor back to the present.

"John, we still need confirmation from Sector 5 and it's been two minutes," Perry reminded him.

John Connor reached for his own walkie-talkie and brought it to his mouth, "Connor. Sector 5: report. Over,"

Perry shot a glance at John. His eyes were hard and questioning. John bit his lip before trying again with a more urgent tone.

"Connor here. Sector 5, report on your status. Over,"

Perry shook his head, "Something's happened. You've got to send Swanson's squad to take over. You know we can't afford to lose Sector 5."

"I'll give it one more try," John said, although he knew it wouldn't do any good. He tried once and twice more. His fingers were sweaty over the buttons on the walkie-talkie. It was hard for John to be optimistic when the only reply he got from Sector 5 was deadly silent static that crackled victory for the machines.

EDIT: Thank you, Mat and EvilClone for pointing out my factual error. It's fixed!


	2. Chapter 2

John Connor removed his field knife from its sheath on his hip and cut the fuzzy black mold from the end of his bread. The rest was good. No sense wasting a hunk of bread when only the tip was spoiled. John ripped off a chunk of the stale bread with his teeth and chewed it slowly. It was hard to chew, but it was nutrition all the same.

He was lucky to have it, and he knew it. God, was he thankful for it. Those memories of when he could walk into a grocery store and just pick up a loaf of fresh bread seemed far away. They were clouded and distorted. Mists of regret and sorrow veiled the worn memories to some extent.

John sat on the low seat of the officer's lunch table that was nothing more than a few mismatched chairs around a table that had three good legs and one propped up by a rusty rod. He shifted in his chair while he chewed. He watched Captain Perry on the other side of the table unroll maps and mutter co-ordinates. Perry had a flashlight between his teeth. The dim light did nothing to penetrate the perpetual darkness of the bunker. The flashlight trembled as Perry mumbled to himself.

John felt a tug on his pants. He paused and looked down. A filthy little child flashed him a toothy grin. His dirty blond hair hung in his eyes and he had an old helmet on his head that fell over his eyebrows. His cheekbones were emaciated and his legs were bony. The child gave him a salute. John saluted back.

"At ease, soldier," John said.

The child pointed to John's bread with a grimy finger.

John, with effort, tore it in half. He handed the child the larger portion. The child smiled, gave a salute, and dashed out of the room.

John returned to staring at the maps until a voice interrupted him.

"John, are you showing your compassionate side? I wasn't aware you had one."

John turned his eyes up to Kate as she entered the room, "I've gotta feed the future fighters."

Kate rolled her eyes and walked past John, tapping his chest armor, "Hard to believe you've got a heart under there."

Kate placed a stubby candle on the table and lit it for Perry. He grunted his thanks. Kate pulled up a seat beside John and rested her head in her hand. She looked tired. Her hair was stringy and she had dark circles under her eyes. Nonetheless, her eyes seemed to give off more light than Perry's flashlight and the candle combined.

Perry rolled up his maps, "I'm going to organize a team to go and get Swanson and his team ready for the re-capture of Sector 5's HQ."

"Radio me whenever they're on their way, Perry," John called to Perry.

Perry switched the radio on his hip to on. Immediately, sound flooded the room. Desperate screams for backup. The bark of gunfire. Cries of agony. Pleas for mothers. Perry exited.

Kate pulled the candle between her and John. The light flickered on their faces. It cast sharp shadows across John's face and made him look older than he really was. The scars on his face, the unshaven face, and the dull and dead eyes.

The two didn't say anything for a moment. They just sat and enjoyed each other's company. Much like they had in the fallout shelter at Crystal Peak. It was mutual pity and sorrow. A quiet, unspoken agreement resonated from each of them. Neither of them knew the other didn't deserve the fate that lay ahead.

Kate took John's hands in her own. They were thick and weather-beaten, hardened by the cold steel triggers of plasma guns and barbed wire. But they were warm.

John squeezed Kate's hands slightly. He cleared his throat; "We haven't sat like this for a while."

"I like it," Kate said through a smile.

Something in that set John off. Perhaps it was the word "like." Like. How could you like anything in this dismal world of death and devastation? What was there to like? Could you like the scorched earth? Could you like the sensation of crunching skulls that you often had to step on? Could you like diving for your life behind a pile of rusted cars?

John jerked his hands away from Kate and threw his chair back. It clattered to the hard cement floor. John was on his feet. Screaming all of these thoughts and more. None of them had to do with Kate. He knew he was being irrational, but he just didn't care. The emotions had been torn from him raw. Every skull. Every bloody uniform. Every filthy child begging for bread. It was salt on the open wounds torn open by fate and fire.

Kate's eyes dropped and her eyes welled with tears. They spilled over and rolled down her dirty cheeks leaving clean streaks. They dripped onto her torn uniform. Why was he screaming at her? He didn't know. He wasn't screaming at her, he was screaming at the world. John knew that inside, Kate was screaming too.

John shut his eyes tightly and exhaled slowly. He had a throbbing headache and his heart hammered against his ribs. John set his chair back up and moved it over closer to Kate. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his. He wiped her pearly tears away with his thumb.

"Kate, I'm sorry. I wasn't yelling at you, I was just …"

But he couldn't finish his sentence. He didn't know whom he was angry at. Fate? The machines? Himself?

Her lip trembled and she nodded, "I know, I know…" she repeated over and over.

He kissed her cheek and then helped her to her feet. She stood shaking slightly in his arms for a moment, but she seemed to compose herself instantly. Kate looked up at John and smiled. The lingering tears made her look so much prettier.

John blew out the candle as they made their way to the exit.

"We should go check on the food supply. Maybe we can get more…"

But John never got to find out what they were getting more of because a rumbling tremor rocked Sector 1 and threw them both to the ground.

John flicked on the radio at his hip and heard between the static a frantic voice, "…Aerial…attack…Sector 1…infiltrators everywhere…"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sorry this hasn't been updated in a while. I had midterms. This chapter was planned differently, but the ending was still pretty much the same. Maybe I'll write it out and post it later as an Alternative. Maybe not. Next chapter coming soon!

The explosion had knocked loose chunks of concrete from the room's walls. Dust and sharp concrete debris littered the floor. The un-sturdy table had collapsed. One of the weapon storage cabinet's doors had been knocked off. Loose bullets skittered across the concrete with shallow clinks. The light flickered on and off. Over the crackling radio and his own erratic breathing, John could hear sporadic gunfire.

Kate was quivering in his arms. He had thrown himself over her instinctively.

"Are you okay!" he screamed into her ear.

She turned to face him. She had a shallow cut on her cheek and her nose was bleeding. She swiped the blood away with the back of her sleeve and nodded, "Yeah."

John relinquished her and dashed across the room in a ducked crouch. He reached for a discarded plasma rifle and held it up close to his face in the flickering light in order to check the gauge. The weapon was covered in dust and John swiped a filthy sleeve over the dusty weapon to reveal the gauge. 23 pulses remaining. Not much. John scavenged the floor for magazine power cells for the rifle. He stuffed the ones he found into his pocket. Kate joined in the effort

"You have to get out of here. It's not safe," John said as he clapped a helmet to his head. He got to his feet and charged the plasma rifle. It hummed to life in his hands. John liked this machine. It was one of the few he could control in this world. John scanned the floor for more weapons. He found some Light Canister Charges and a pipe bomb. He slammed them both into a pack and slung it over his side.

Kate was still there. Standing there. John was almost mad at her for endangering herself. What would he do if he lost her? Who would he fight for?

"Get to the other corridors. East wing. Help pass out weapons," John said gruffly. The gunfire was getting closer.

Kate picked up a plasma pistol from the floor and slammed a power cell into it. It hummed to life in her hand. She clipped her helmet strap under her chin.

"No, John. You aren't the only one who has something to fight for."

Something in her eyes was burning and John knew he couldn't stop her, "Okay. Then secure the Southern Wing corridors."

John knew there was no infiltration in the Southern Wing. The gunfire was coming from the Northern section.

Kate nodded, "Right," And then added, "Be careful, John."

John stood and adjusted his helmet, "I will. I've got something to fight for."

The two parted ways and John followed the sound of gunfire. His radio was telling him in panicked tones that there were three Infiltrators and two had already been contained. But where was the third?

A man rounded the corner. His back was to John and he kept his arm close to his chest and under his cloak. He was racing backwards shooting ahead at something. He brushed John. John stepped back, "Careful, soldier."

The man wheeled on John and threw him into the wall with a powerful backhand. John blinked stars from his eyes and got his first good look at the man.

The man turned on John and John saw the man's face was blown away. Underneath ragged skin, metal gleamed. His face was shredded diagonally and exposed both eyes as red pupils set in metal sockets. The Infiltrator was still very human. One arm was fleshy and the other was stripped to the metal.

John instinctively reached for the Light Canister Charge in his pack.

John twisted the Light Canister Charge explosive and it's ends lit up. Armed and ready to tear apart that walking metal menace. John wound back and pitched the canister at the Infiltrator. The Infiltrator's mechanical eyes narrowed to pinpricks of red light. They pierced through the smoke and bored right into John. The red eyes contrasted eerily to the still very fleshy Endoskeleton. John watched the machine raise its half-metal arm and catch the canister. It turned it over, probably analyzing it, and then wound back in order to vault the ticking time bomb back to John.

John never saw the Terminator throw the canister. He had already dived behind a barrel. He pressed his back against the barrel and braced himself. He prayed that the Infiltrator would miss his mark and completely miss the barrel.

John's prayers were answered. The Light Canister Charge exploded before the Infiltrator could throw it. The heat ate hungrily at the remaining flesh on the Infiltrator and fire clawed at the parts that had been blown from the Infiltrator. The roar quieted to a crackle as the fire feasted on a meal of metal.

John exhaled the breath he had been holding. He adjusted his helmet.

That's when he heard it: the sound of hot metal grinding on cold concrete. A slow, cruel scrape that seemed so harsh to John's ears. The thought dawned on him with a jolt of lightning; the damaged upper half of the Infiltrator was crawling towards him. The fingers that wouldn't stop dragging it along, the half-torso that didn't feel pain, and the freezing, pitiless eyes that didn't show fear…

John raised his plasma rifle and jumped from the shadows with his plasma rifle aimed at the ground. One of its arms was still fleshy and was clutching a plasma pistol while the other was bare metal. Its chest was full off bullet holes exposing tough armor. A worn, tattered green hood, ones commonly worn by refugees, was hanging by a thread from its neck. The crawling Infiltrator was closer than John had thought. It took a powerful swing with its fleshy arm at John's feet.

John felt his ankle give way and he instinctively tucked himself as he fell onto the ground. The corridor rotated before his eyes and he was staring into a red light: the Infiltrators eye. It dilated and narrowed and then brought its plasma pistol to John's head.

The tuck had put John in a favorable position. Perfect for lashing out with his boot and kicking the Infiltrator in the side of the head. The jar knocked the Infiltrator's targeting cross hair off target and the plasma pulse grazed John's shoulder. It scorched his uniform and scalded the skin beneath it. John threw his head back and howled in raw pain. The pain rippled through his body and John was immobilized for a moment. The Infiltrator crawled over John, pinning him beneath the machine's grip. He was so close. John could feel the hydraulics of the machine moving across him. So effortless. So calculated.

The Infiltrator reached for the plasma pistol. John knew. He knew that if he didn't act now, he wasn't going to survive. Nobody would save these people in the bunkers, that little boy who had asked him for bread, Kate…

Gritting his teeth against the pain, John pulled the trigger of the plasma rifle in rapid-fire succession and swiped it across the Terminator's head. The plasma rifle's rounds tore the Infiltrator's head wide open revealing sparking wires and melted computer chips. The plasma was never meant for that close range and John's face broke out in sweat almost instantly. His chest armor was smoking and the clasps were melting…

But the Infiltrator's bright red eyes were fading. John watched as the Infiltrator's eyes faded from fiery red to icy black. Black like the shade that was creeping over John's vision.

Kate's footsteps slapped the concrete as she dashed into the narrow corridor and her eyes fell upon John with the Infiltrator on his chest. She shrieked for John. He didn't response. Kate's heart was racing. Fear and adrenaline gripped her. Kate targeted the Infiltrator with her gun, but it didn't move. Cautiously, she stepped up to it. She lifted its head back and saw black eyes. That's when she got a good look at John. His face was red and blistered in patches across it and his armor was warped and still smoking.

It took effort, but Kate managed to roll the Infiltrator off of John. She dropped to her knees besides John. His breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes were wide and fixed. Kate gently shook him, "John."

John continued to stare as perspiration collected above his lips and on his forehead.

Running out of options and desperate for any sign of recognition, Kate took John's face in her shaking hands and kissed his lips hard. They were hot and unresponsive. She drew back. She shook him once more. His limp fingers dropped his gun and it clattered to the floor.

Kate realized that John's shoulder was bleeding terribly. The twisted armor was preventing Kate from seeing the wound clearly. Kate tore a strip of cloth from the hem of her shirt and managed to stuff it under his armor and apply it to the wound. She watched the cloth soak up crimson blood.

That did it for Kate. The sight of blood, John's blood, was more than she could process.

"John! John!" she screeched as her voice began to break. She mouthed the words when her voice suddenly went hoarse. She distraughtly hoped that this was just a nightmare like so many others she had had. But in dreams, you don't feel pain and this couldn't be a dream because Kate was experiencing the most pain she had ever experienced in her life.

Two soldiers dashed out of a corridor. They didn't even pause when they saw John on the ground. Quite the contrary, they sped up. Private Lawley slid his arms under John's and pulled him from Kate's hold. John's head lolled to one side and his toasted helmet fell askew.

Corporal Hatch screamed orders into his radio about medical intention. He then rounded on Kate and said something about an infirmary, but none of it got through to Kate. She stared straight ahead with tears welling in her eyes as the images replayed in slow motion before her. Corporal Hatch took her by the arm and led her down a twisty path to the infirmary.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I'm back. ;) Enjoy this chapter! I think there will only be a few more, but no worries. There's still plenty of action and angst to be had. Enjoy!

The hollow sound of John's combat boots slapping against the concrete floor echoed off the walls of the miserable, dimly lit passageway. He rounded a sharp corner and came to a sudden stop as he saw what was around the corner.

A Terminator, a rather battle-damaged one that was only partially covered with chunks of flesh, held Kate by the throat a few feet off the ground.

John leapt forward into a sprint, brandishing his plasma rifle as he ran. He slammed a power cell magazine into it and John felt it warming up in his fingers. John had put on a tremendous burst of speed, but he wasn't going anywhere. The hallway seemed to be elastic and was stretching longer and longer. The Terminator and Kate were getting farther and farther out of reach.

Kate was desperately clawing at the Terminator's metal fingers, trying to break their vice-like grip on her throat. Kicking her feet frantically, her boots were only clanking off the Terminator's thighs uselessly. She gulped for air, but her eyes only got wider as the seconds dragged on.

John was panicking now. He could feel the cold sweat rolling down his back in icy rivulets. John raised his plasma rifle and locked onto the Terminator, but he couldn't fire without lethally burning Kate.

John watched through the scope of the plasma rifle as Kate's feet slowly stopped kicking and her hand fell limp across the Terminator's wrist. Her auburn hair fell over her glassy eyes.

The Terminator threw the flaccid Kate violently to the ground. Her legs were entangled with each other and her left arm was bent awkwardly.

"Kate! No! You-"

John roared with anguish as he pulled the trigger and slammed the Terminator with a pulse of plasma that melted joints and blew off fingertips. The Terminator swayed on its feet, but still the Terminator endured. It was approaching John, it's red eyes narrowed to pinpricks of self-awareness that burned with the intense hatred of man and the desire to crush John Connor and everything he stood for.

John tried to back peddle, but his feet were sinking into the concrete floor like quick sand. The concrete floor was swallowing his feet. John tried frantically to fire his plasma rifle, but it was jammed and sinking into the floor. Out of the corner, he saw Kate; still limp on the floor. Still out of his reach… Enraged and charged with altruism, John lunged in an attempt to escape from the quicksand pit that was the floor.

The Terminator was faster and delivered a powerful backhand across John's face. The metal hand knocked a tooth loose and flooded John's mouth with the taste of thick, bitter blood. John, still shaky from the blow, continued to try and escape from the floor. He clutched at the floor, trying to pull himself out. Almost in an amused way, the Terminator stepped on John's hand with all of its weight, shattering his hand. John howled in pain. The Terminator couldn't feel pain, pity, fear, or remorse, but it seemed to be enjoying torturing John.

John still had another hand. He could still reach Kate, yeah…

"K-Kate!" he stuttered, spitting blood as he said her name.

Kate touched John's face gently, brushing a stray hair away from his face, "I'm here. You've been tossing in your sleep and mumbling. I must say it's an improvement. You usually snore. Were you having a nightmare?"

John inhaled deeply as he was thrown from slumber. The air was thick and he knew from the scent of sweat, burnt flesh, and sterilized air that he was in the infirmary. He was laying flat on his back on a gurney. John was conscious of Kate sitting next to him. Her cheeks were hollow and she had dark circles under her eyes, but her lips were stretched in a wide, grateful smile. John's mind was racing and his heart was, too. John drew in a shaky breath as slurred words tumbled out of his mouth, " Whowhat? My men, my- the- Terminator-"

John tried to sit up, but Kate put a hand to his chest and eased him back down, "Careful. You don't want to mess up your bandages."

John was then aware that his shoulder was tightly wrapped in a professional field dressing. A bloom of blood had come through the dressing, but it wasn't much. John had a bandage around his forehead and it sagged slightly to give him a lopsided look. His arm was also bandaged in a few places.

Kate placed her own bandaged hand on his. Her hand was warm. John could feel it through the dressing.

"So like you to ask of your men. A lot of them got out. A few are wounded and a handful are MIA, but they're expected to be in a makeshift shelter somewhere in Sector 7," she said with a stiff sort of tone to her voice.

"You took out the Terminator, but you were burned yourself pretty good. Thankfully, they aren't as bad as they originally thought they were. Your armor stopped most of it," Kate said. She reached under the stretcher John was lying on and raised the armor John had been wearing. It was charred and melted smooth in quite a few places.

"You almost burned a hole clean through in a few places," Kate said almost conversationally. She paused, bit her lip, and dropped the armor to the floor. The cheerful, optimistic attitude drained from her face. Her eyes spilled over with tears as she threw herself over John's chest and clutched at his bandages. She dug her fingernails into him and sobbed on his chest, "I thought, I thought…" John's bandages absorbed Kate's tears and drank them greedily.

She couldn't get the words out, and John couldn't find the words to say, either. He ran a dirty, blood-caked hand through her hair. The texture felt silky-smooth to his rough, weathered hands. Kate drew back and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, "Sorry," she said. John leaned his head back on the lumpy pillow.

It was then that John became aware of the fact that he wasn't the only one in the infirmary. It had seemed that it was only he and Kate. There was a man with bandages around his chest and blood was blossoming through them. A young woman was holding a cold cloth to her nose. A weather-beaten man was sewing up a hole in his uniform while a tired looking nurse was wrapping his bloody feet in a bandage.

Now John noticed the faces that peered at him as people passed. Their eyes were full and wide; some were brimming with tears that threatened to spill over. Trembling lips and bleary eyes were breaking John's heart. These people were counting on him. The "great" John Connor. He was the "invincible" leader. He was supposedly the one who could bring these broken people to their feet, but John himself couldn't even stand. He couldn't let them see him like this.

John grabbed Kate's torn shirt collar and pulled her face close to his, "Wheel me into a private room."

Kate nodded and turned to a medic for clearance. The medic nodded and within a few moments, John was being wheeled sloppily through rusty double doors into a quiet, dimly lit storage room that was littered with half-open tins of bandages and a notice board that was a sea of hastily scribbled notes asking for more supplies. John exhaled heavily. Kate gave John's hand a gentle squeeze.

"These people are counting on me," John said through his teeth, "and here I am just laying here."

"You'll be back in your combat boots soon enough, soldier," Kate chimed in with sugary optimism.

"Not soon enough," John scoffed.

Kate opened her mouth to say something, but John blurted out.

"You don't understand. People out there die for me every day. Their last dying thoughts are 'At least I can die for the fight; for our freedom and for John Connor.' Don't you get it? They're dying in vain because I'm not even in the fight."

John's voice cracked as his emotion poured into his words. His words echoed off the bleak walls.

Kate's face was blank. Her face was clean from the tear trails that wound down her delicate cheeks. She sat, her hands folded in her lap and her face devoid of emotion.

A hot sense of purpose and urgency pounded in John's veins. He sat up. A jolt of pain made him twitch, but John bared it. He swung his legs over the side of the gurney. Kate looked up at him from her seat on an under stuffed stool.

"Those men," she said slowly, "did not die in vain. The fight and its leaders and its causes…how could … how could the fight for our future ever be labeled as useless?"

John's eyes locked with Kate's. She continued, "John, these men will never see you as 'out of the fight.' You are able to stand. You stand against the pressure, against the machines, against the lack of food and supplies."

Kate's voice was thick with emotion and her throat was closing around the words, "Don't fall now, John."

John's feet hit the ground. He still leaned on the gurney for support for a moment. The words were still sinking in. Those words sounded too sincere to be just sympathy. They were much deeper than that. Deep rooted as if they were truth. John believed Kate.

Kate pressed John's radio into the palm of his bandaged hand. John took Kate's face in his free hand and brought her lips to his.

"I've got to meet with Perry," John said as he pulled his worn uniform coat around him, "assess the damages, check up on those new maps, write up the new watch shifts, and address the issue of rationing."

Kate helped John button into his uniform, "Sounds like a busy day. Take it easy. You're still not in top condition."

John knelt carefully as his bandages prevented some movement and jerked on his boots, "I'll come back here in a few hours to check on you."

"We'll have to redress those wounds as well," Kate chimed in.

John replied gruffly, "I'm a big General. I can dress my own wounds."

"Oh? Just like you can tie your boots, huh?" Kate said. She pointed at his feet. He'd put them on the wrong feet.

John laughed sheepishly. So he had. John laughed again. He was secretly thrilled; he thought had forgotten how to laugh.


End file.
